


Till Death Do Us Part

by devera



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always the mission, even when it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the week 3 challenge: _What We Do is Secret_ over at [ weiss vs saiyuki](http://weissvsaiyuki.livejournal.com).
> 
> I apologise for both the level of angst and the brevity herein. This is really only a shadow of what I originally wanted to write, but I just wrote 6 film reviews in 3 days and I didn't think I'd have enough time to manage even this much before the fight deadline. As it is, I basically wrote it during work hours when I really couldn't afford to spare the time, but then again, priorities, right? Saiyuki fanfiction = high. Boring-assed work = low.

“Do you think they’ll bite?”

Heath didn’t know why she was asking; she already knew the answer to that.

“Of course they will,” he answered, throwing back the dregs of his coffee and then placing the empty mug on the sink. “They’re terrified of him. You'll get in. And I'll be right behind you.” There must have been something in his tone though. She looked at him sharply.

“You don’t like this, do you?” she started, mildly suspicious, and then something else came over her face. He pretended not to see it. “You don’t think I can do it.”

That made him vaguely annoyed. “I have never,” he objected coldly, “not once, ever implied you weren’t best agent I’ve ever met.”

Now she was annoyed too. “That’s not an answer, Heath.”

He had nothing to say to that. She stared at his profile for several long seconds. As if that level of interrogation would actually have some kind of effect on him.

“Fine,” she sighed, and went back to packing his lunch, her movements smooth, economical. It was amazing, he thought, how she could make the most domestic chores look somehow lethal. “Here.” She handed him the lunch box, her mouth pulling straight for a moment. “Don’t forget the milk on your way home this time.”

“Yeah, sure,” he grunted. “Have a nice day then, dear.” He took the box from her hands and leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She let him, but she wasn’t exactly happy about it.

“You’re so hilarious,” she said, implying the exact opposite.

“Isn’t that why you married me?” he joked, giving her a quick grin before backing off. She rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said drolly, “but it might be why I divorce you.”

He went around the breakfast bench and scooped up his briefcase from the dining table that they never really used.

“Okay,” he agreed. "But I’m keeping the dog."

“We don’t have a dog, moron,” she called after him, but he could hear the reluctant smile in her voice as he stepped out onto the landing and closed the front door of the apartment after him.

++++

The next time he saw her, well, things hadn’t gone exactly as planned.

“Kat? _Kat_! Oh Jesus Christ, Katty.”

“He- Heath,” she breathed, but otherwise didn’t move. “I guess you… were right.”

“No,” he said. “No.” He had to force himself to stop trying to reach her through the bars. There were sixteen keys on the chain he’d taken from the guard after he’d snapped his neck. Sixteen. Who the fuck locked cells with _keys_ these days? He could have had the lock hacked in under ten seconds if it'd been electronic. “Just, just hold on, Kat. I’ll get you out of here.”

“No,” she croaked, and then coughed. It was a wet, horrible sound. “No, the mission.”

“Fuck the mission,” Heath snapped. Key number seven wasn’t the right one either. He tried the next. “I don’t give a shit about the mission. It’s blown.”

“No, it’s not. Heathclif.”

He stopped at that, hands shaking half way through turning key number ten. She never called him by his full name.

“Kat, no,” he said, but he already knew, didn’t he. They were both good agents. “Don’t do this.”

“You’ve got to finish it, Heath. You know you do.”

“Katty…”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Heathclif!” she hissed, and it sounded like all the breath she possibly had left. “I knew what I was signing up for. You don’t get- You don’t get to treat me like I’m not… an agent. Just because… just because…”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted. The key ring was cutting into his hand. His knuckles ached where his other hand clutched the bar. He focused on that, just on that, not on her fast panting breath and the wet sounds she made on exhale or the distinctive rank of old, sour blood in the stuffy air of the cell block.

“You’re an idiot,” she sighed, finally, so softly he could barely hear her.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “So, just let me save you okay?” he said, and it didn’t matter that he was begging. “I’ll come back and kill Argus later, I promise. But right now, let me get you out of here.”

“We’ll never get… another…. chance, and you…know it.”

He did know it. That was the problem. But he didn’t care. The Agency could do whatever they wanted with him later, but right now, he didn’t care.

“I don’t care,” he said out loud.

“Okay, Heath,” she relented finally. “Okay. If that’s what you…want.”

“Come on,” he joked, shakily, and shoved key number thirteen in the lock and turned it. It was almost a surprise when it clicked and the bolt fell open. “Life on the run, the Agency hunting us down. A different country every month, new identities every other week. Sounds like fun, right?” He got the gate open and skidded to his knees at her side, and even in the dark, Jesus, he could see she was a complete mess. He carefully peeled up her ruined shirt, the one she’d been wearing that morning when he’d left the house.

“It’s bad,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s a paper cut,” he told her and wrenched off his jacket, and then his tee shirt. He already knew it wouldn’t be enough, but he ripped it down one seam anyway. “Jeans or shirt?” he demanded and she half laughed. 

“The shirt’s toast anyway,” she said. “And it’s not like you haven’t seen me in my ugly bra before.”

“It’s not ugly,” he muttered, ignoring her sounds of pain as he tied manoeuvred her to get the shirt off and fold it up into a compress that he could press against the worst wound and secure with the length of his tee. He tied it tight. She swore viciously.

“Come on,” he urged, ignoring her bad language and throwing his jacket around her shoulders, and then helping her ease her arms into the sleeves as she panted and trembled in his hold. "Time to go." She grunted as he helped her up and slipped a shoulder under her arm on the relatively good side.

“Spare,” she demanded breathlessly, and he reached around to the holster tucked against the small of his back, freed the second Barretta he kept there, and pressed it into her hands.

“All right,” she nodded, gritting her teeth. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

++++

They were on the ground floor when Argus's men found them. She saw them first. He felt her whole body go tense against his side and while he was still turning his head, she was already squeezing off a shot. The point man went down. The rest of them started firing.

Heath dove for the only cover to be had, behind the closest Corinthian and thank fuck for rich, pretentious criminal lords that had their homes decorated after the late Greek period. Kat hit the marble hard, gasped in a breath and then flowed like oil around the other side of the column and fired again. Heath took the opportunity to check their orientation against his exit strategy and realised there was no way they were going to get to it with these bozos in the room. He’d have to take them out.

“Don’t suppose you brought Princess?” Kat panted at him, taking a second to duck as marble chipped in rapid burst clouds just above her head.

“Yeah, figured a pink XM8 would spoil the look I was going for,” he said, then ducked around his side of the column and squeezed off a couple of shots. Another of Argus's force went down.

“No, what?” she laughed back, although it was really more of a wheeze. “Pink’s a great colour on you.”

“Now who’s hilarious,” he grunted. “Cover me. I’m going to deal with this.”

“Gotcha,” she gasped. “Don’t forget to pick up the milk on your way back, yeah? You always forget the milk.”

He’d been about to throw himself out from behind cover, but something in her voice stopped him. He turned. She looked… bad; grey and waxy. His shirt and the compress were soaked through with red and it had made the front of her blue jeans black.

“We’re going to make it,” he told her. It was sheer stubbornness.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But promise me-“

“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting her off. “Just don’t.”

She looked at him then. It was the same look she’d given him this morning, impatient, annoyed, and yet somehow, understanding, and he realised she’d known, she’d known how he felt. Maybe she always had, right from the start.

“We should have been married for real,” he said quietly, like there wasn’t still gunfire chipping away at the room around them. “I would have married you.”

She looked soft then. It wasn’t a smile, but she looked soft.

“I was never the marrying kind, Heathclif.”

That wouldn’t have mattered, but he didn’t say that.

“You go clear out this crowd, yeah?” She reached over and found his hand, squeezed it. He squeezed back. Her skin was cold. “I think I’ll… wait right here.”

He nodded, but making himself let go of her hand was the hardest thing he’d ever done in a long, long history of hard things. He made his fingers unlock, felt her grip go lax as their hands slid apart. He didn't think about it, just pushed himself to his feet, back against the column. He thought he felt the brush of her hand against his ankle, but he didn’t look down. He focused on the task instead, the goal. Clear the room. 

It took seven and a half minutes. Two of them managed to hit him – one in the shoulder and one that clipped him across the top of the thigh. The pain only helped him to focus. The rest didn’t last much longer.

When he was done and there were nothing but dead lying at his feet, he stopped. He was halfway between the way out and the way back and he knew which direction he wasn’t going to take. 

“I think I’ll go get Argus now after all,” he said to the silent room. “You… wait. This won’t take long.”

She didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected her to.

After all, there were no happily ever afters for people like them. Only deaths do us part.


End file.
